


leather runs smooth

by Cerberusia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, M/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Out of school time, they meet far less often...</i>14-year-old Albus and his Arithmancy professor Mr. Malfoy manage to steal an interlude in the miserable British summer time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	leather runs smooth

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the DM/ASP Love Fest. Title from The Smiths' _This Charming Man_.

Out of school time, they meet far less often. There's much less risk of getting caught, since Mr. Malfoy can just take them to his house where they have all the privacy they could want, but Al has to constantly think up excuses to be let out of the house on his own. He's allowed to walk into the village by himself if they need butter or something, but he's expected back within the hour, and in their small community there's any number of nosy neighbours who could see something incriminating. He's taken to cultivating an apparent interest in long walks through the woods, down by the river, and both Mum and Dad are sympathetic to his need for solitude on occasion ('If I couldn't get out of a house filled with six brothers regularly, I'd have probably have turned to the Dark,' Mum had admitted), and at last they've conceded that so long as he stays nearby, fourteen is about old enough to be allowed out unsupervised.

He does a couple of real walks, first, to make sure that his parents haven't put a trace on him - they do worry too much, Voldemort's _gone_ for crying out loud - then, free at last, takes his third walk with electricity humming in his veins, skin prickling with anticipation.

He finds the Portkey quickly, hidden just where he'd marked, and it activates right on time, the vortex resolving neatly into Mr. Malfoy's front hall, with the black-and-white diamond patterned tiles on the floor and marble fireplace. Mr. Malfoy isn't there, but Albus knows what he's meant to do: he takes off his Muggle clothes and puts them in the basket provided, then makes his way into the parlour, decorated in deep green and dark wood, where Mr. Malfoy's waiting for him.

Mr. Malfoy is sitting in an armchair and smoking. He uses a long cigarette-holder, like they do in the old black and white films, and green smoke trails from the tip. It smells bitter-sweet and woody, and reminds Albus of incense. Mr. Malfoy always smells a little like it. On the occasions when Albus is able to stick around afterwards, Mr. Malfoy lends him a grey dressing gown which is much too long for him, but it's incredibly soft and smells like Mr. Malfoy, so Albus doesn't mind.

"Albus," says Mr. Malfoy, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Why don't you come and sit on my lap?" Albus swallows, very aware of his nakedness, but does as he's told. Mr. Malfoy doesn't move as he crawls into his lap, though Albus' bony knees must be digging in uncomfortably as he settles his thighs either side of Mr. Malfoy's. He's fully dressed in what passes for a casual style among the fancier sections of Wizarding society, in wide-sleeved grey robes trimmed with lavender which appear to be cut down the front to wrap one side over the other, like a dressing gown, though Albus can't tell whether they actually open or not. The style is not unlike a Japanese yukata; the Orient is all the rage right now.

With Albus' thighs splayed open over Mr. Malfoy's lap, their faces are very close. Albus can see the faint crows-feet at the corners of Mr. Malfoy's eyes, the slightly receded hairline emphasizing his already high forehead, the touch of grey at his temples. He's only forty, but like Dad and most wizards of his generation, he seems prematurely aged. Mr. Malfoy doesn't pretend not to be looking at Albus, which makes him both uncomfortable and thrilled. He's so much smaller and younger than Mr. Malfoy, and the difference in age and size makes him self-conscious just as much as it excites him. He knows that Mr. Malfoy likes it too: that's why he makes Albus strip naked whenever he can while he stays clothed, why he makes him sit in his lap. Mr. Malfoy is always in control.

"There's a good boy," says Mr. Malfoy, putting down his cigarette so he can take hold of Albus' hips. "My, you are growing." Is he? He doesn't feel like he is, but then other people always notice this sort of thing more. The idea makes him a little conflicted: he wants to be taller, but he doesn't want to stop being Mr. Malfoy's little boy.

Mr. Malfoy's long fingers trail down over Albus' thighs, splayed wide either side of Mr. Malfoy's.

"As white as your name," he says, musingly, tracing small circles ever closer to Albus' genitals. Albus tries not to shift or wriggle. He has to be good, or Mr. Malfoy will tease him longer just to be perverse.

For several moments, Mr. Malfoy seems preoccupied with watching Albus' cock twitch as he slowly makes his way down Albus' abdomen. At last, he trails his index finger down it, pausing to briefly rub the head, then takes his hand away and watches it rise to full hardness, foreskin slowly peeling back. He looks entranced; able to bear it no longer, Albus squirms impatiently.

Mr. Malfoy snorts, delicately, and starts to slowly fist Albus' cock. Albus knows there's no use hurrying him. It's like in lessons, where he always starts at the beginning and takes the time to thoroughly explain before getting to the end. But then Arithmancy lends itself to thoroughness, with its laborious number charts. It's not really Al's thing, but it has applications in Potions and it's always worth watching Mr. Malfoy.

Albus is abruptly unsettled from his perch when Mr. Malfoy suddenly gets one hand under his thighs and the other on his back, and proceeds to pick him up. In Mr. Malfoy's arms, Albus feels weightless - but only for a moment, before he's laid flat on the long black leather sofa. He draws up his knees instinctively, and Mr. Malfoy crawls between them to take Albus' cock in his mouth.

Albus' head thuds back against the sofa, his legs spasming, as Mr. Malfoy steadily takes more into his mouth, the flat of his tongue rubbing against the head just how Albus likes. Albus' knees spread wide, then curve together again over Mr. Malfoy's head. He can feel Mr. Malfoy's hair brushing his groin and the insides of his thighs, his strong fingers digging into Albus' arse. His free hand fondles Albus' testicles. Albus arches his hips off the sofa and breathes heavily, thighs trembling, clenching his hands into fists, as he feels the wave of orgasm approaching.

"Sir," he gasps out, and Mr. Malfoy takes his cue to redouble his efforts. Shortly thereafter, the wave hits and he reaches the crest, lifting most of his body off the sofa as he comes in Mr. Malfoy's mouth. Mr. Malfoy, of course, doesn't flinch; he merely sucks the white lights and lingering sparks out of him until Albus is quite spent, and even seems reluctant to withdraw. He lets go of Albus' cock gently, and presses a kiss to the soft inside of his thigh before sitting up.

"Sir," says Albus, fighting through sweet post-orgasm lassitude to struggle upright. He can see Mr. Malfoy's erection making a tent in the cloth of his robes, but can't work out if he needs to push them up or whether they just come undone at the front.

As it turns out, the two sides are in fact separate, one wrapped over the other, and Mr. Malfoy unties the thick dark blue-grey belt to reveal that - surprise, surprise - he's not wearing anything under it. A shiny silver scar stretches across his pale, hairless chest and stomach, almost blending in with the skin around it. Mr. Malfoy never explained, and Albus never asked, but Dad told him the story of performing Sectumsempra in the boy's bathroom and nearly killing Mr. Malfoy in his sixth year, and Albus put it together. He kind of wants to kiss it, but doesn't know if Mr. Malfoy would like that.

Like the rest of him, Mr. Malfoy's cock is long and pale, with a pink flush at the head. Penises, considered objectively, aren't particularly attractive, but Mr. Malfoy's is the nicest that Albus has ever seen. Not that he has that much experience: his yearmates in the showers and some magazines are hardly a comprehensive sample group, and he's entirely biased, says the analytical part of his brain which everyone thought would make him a sure candidate for Ravenclaw - except that the Hat only took half a minute to pronounce him a Slytherin. He was, however, outdone in shock factor by eternally sweet-tempered Lily, who followed in his footsteps the next year. Lily has always been his favourite sibling.

Mr. Malfoy sighs as Albus gets a hand around his cock at last. Albus scoots closer, kneeling next to his teacher and resting his free hand on his shoulder. Hesistantly, he leans in to kiss Mr. Malfoy's neck, white and tempting, just over the pulse. Mr. Malfoy turns his head and takes Albus' chin in his fingers to catch his mouth in an involved kiss, which he easily controls. Albus lets him: there'll be a time to ravish Mr. Malfoy in turn, when he's older and knows for certain what he's doing, but for now he's enjoying letting Mr. Malfoy do the work.

Mr. Malfoy licks at Albus' bottom lip, which Albus takes as a cue to open his mouth and let in Mr. Malfoy's tongue, which promptly tangles with his. Albus responds with vigour: they've practiced this enough now that he feels confident in his ability to kiss Mr. Malfoy how he likes. He runs his tongue along the inside of Mr. Malfoy's bottom lip, and feels his teacher's breath shudder into his mouth. Mr. Malfoy reaches around Albus to rest a hand on his lower back. His hand feels very big; a warm, comforting weight.

Gradually, Mr. Malfoy's hips start to move, his thighs twitching restlessly, his breath coming ragged. Their kiss has dissolved into breathing into eachother's mouths and occasionally biting eachother's lips. Albus is hard again, and he rubs his cock against Mr. Malfoy's hip as he steadily pumps him towards orgasm. He supposes that one day he'll get the hang of knowing when Mr. Malfoy's about to come, but this time he's still taken by surprise when Mr. Malfoy makes a low, choked noise and convulses, semen spattering Albus' hand. He digs his fingertips into Albus' back and, even in the knowledge that they'd have to be explained away, Albus hopes they'll leave bruises.

Mr. Malfoy watches him through half-lidded eyes for a moment as he gets his breath back, Then he spells the come away, wandless, rearranges his clothing and says,

"Sit on my lap again. Face forwards." Albus scrambles to do as he's told, stiff cock bobbing. Once he's settled, he expects Mr. Malfoy to take hold of his cock, but instead he feels big hands rest on his thighs and a kiss pressed to his neck; then the nape; then a little line, from the base of his neck along the top of his shoulder blade. Only then does Mr. Malfoy take him in hand, pulling steadily with a firm grip, still dotting kisses over his neck and back, wherever he can reach. Albus feels like there's something big inside him, settled nervously in his stomach and expanding up through his chest and throat. Every kiss leaves sparks in its wake, makes his thighs clench around Mr. Malfoy's. Mr. Malfoy's breath is hot on his neck.

"Sir," he says, overwhelmed; " _Sir,_ " as Mr. Malfoy tightens his grip and moves his hand faster. Albus gasps and shudders, trying to rock his hips but unable to gain any leverage. "Sir, _please_ ," he all but whimpers, bracing his hands on Mr. Malfoy's knees, his skin prickling and overheated, orgasm and something else coiling in his abdomen.

"Good boy," says Mr. Malfoy, between kisses, "good boy." His free hand pulls lightly at Albus' nipple, flicking his thumb and scraping his nail over it, and Albus hears the breath shudder out of him in half-vocalised moans. He wants, he wants — He comes, white clouding his vision, heartbeat loud in his ears, hips jerking helplessly into Mr. Malfoy's grasp. Mr. Malfoy milks him through it, never ceasing his tender kisses.

Albus wants to stay there for hours, spread out on Mr. Malfoy's lap, his head on Mr. Malfoy's shoulder, Mr. Malfoy's arms wrapped warm around his waist. But he's been gone too long as it is and the rain's started coming down, and he needs to get back home before he's missed.

He'd been expecting another Portkey, but instead Mr. Malfoy gets him to stand in the middle of the foyer, then wraps his arms around him and Apparates them both back to Godric's Hollow, on the path by the river. Rain drips from the trees onto their heads. It's only the usual British drizzle, but Albus' thin t-shirt is quickly damp.

Still embracing him, Mr. Malfoy kisses him. He keeps making as if to draw back, but then returns as if he can't bear to let go. Not wanting it to be over either, Albus fiercely kisses back.

At last, Mr. Malfoy all but wrenches himself away from Albus, who instantly feels the cold. A painful foot of distance between them, Mr. Malfoy scrutinises Albus' face hard for a long moment, longing written bright across his face, then Disapparates with a _crack_.

Albus is left to run home alone, hoping to be too quick for the rain to wash all traces of Mr. Malfoy off his skin.


End file.
